


The Ghost of You

by therecognitionscene



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Depression, Ghosts, M/M, Poor bby Seb, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therecognitionscene/pseuds/therecognitionscene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian Moran is a lonely, broken man after the Fall, but he's never been truly alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ghost of You

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of based off of the song The Ghost of You by My Chemical Romance. The lyrics at the beginning and end belong to them.

_I never said I’d lie and wait forever_   
_If I died, we’d be together_

The room was dark; the thick curtains were only half-drawn across the windows, but the night sky outside was cloudy and overcast, hiding the light of the moon and the stars and leaving the room in shadow.

Sebastian Moran collapsed into the big armchair in the living room and buried his head in his hands. Everything was fuzzy around the edges anyways, he wasn’t missing much by grinding the heels of his hands into his bloodshot eyes. He could feel the beginnings of a headache growing in the back of his head like a gathering thunderstorm. He’d definitely overdone it that night, downing shot after shot, glass after glass of the cheapest, strongest booze he could find that shite-hole of a pub he had begun frequenting. Maybe he hoped it would kill him finally. Maybe he hoped he’d pass out and just never wake up.

“Well, that’s a fuckin’ stupid-arsed way of dyin’, fuckwad. You made it through a fuckin’ war and years of workin’ as Jim Moriarty’s over-sized lapdog and you’re gonna drink yourself to death? Always knew you were a lil’ bitch.”

Sebastian let his hands fall from his face to hang between his legs. He looked up and there he was, perfectly visible even in the darkness of the room. Sand clung to his brow and dusted his blonde hair, and there was a deep red stain on his side, blood that had soaked through his white undershirt. But his eyes were still that shocking blue, and that grin was still crooked and mischievous. Severin.

“Don’ just stare at me like that. I always knew you were stupid, but really, Seb. Never thought you were this vacant.”

Sebastian scowled and his head throbbed. “Shut the hell up, Rin. You’ve no right talkin’ to me like that. You left me, you bastard, in the middle of the war. I couldn’t— save—.” There was another painful throb, right in the center of his chest this time.

The grin faded from Severin’s face and there was regret in his eyes. “I didn’ mean to, Bastian. Fuck knows I didn’. You think I wanted to die in that desert? Sand everywhere, and it was so _hot_. That’s what I remember most. The heat.”

Seb could feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, but before he could do anything— cry out, curse his twin, damn himself— a soft voice broke the silence.

“You can’t blame yourself, Sebastian. For any of this. We don’t.”

The ex-colonel squeezed his eyes shut and when he reopened them, there was a small dark-haired man standing beside Severin.

“Richard,” he croaked out, another lightning bolt shooting through his heart.

Richard gave him a soft smile, his eyes infinitely sad. There were rope burns around his neck from the noose Sebastian had found him swinging from months after the Fall, the mark violent and grotesque on his beautiful pale skin. Poor innocent, beautiful, sweet Richard.

“Hi Sebby,” Richard said in a quiet voice. “I miss you. But I met Severin, and you know what? He’s been taking care of me. Just like you did.” He smiled up at Severin and the blonde, made of sand and air and flesh, smiled down at Richard and wrapped an arm around his thin shoulders.

“I should have been there, Richie, I should never have left you alone after—” Seb’s voice died off in a strangled sound, and Richard gave a small shake of his head.

“You couldn’t have saved me, Sebby. I’d already made the decision. I don’t blame you.”

“None of us do,” added Severin.

“So honestly, Tiger, do us all a favor and get over yourself.”

And that’s when Sebastian fell to his knees, when he heard that damned voice. He watched dumbly as a third figure emerged from the gloom.

Jim gazed down at his sniper, brushing past Severin and Richard to kneel in front of his broken lover. He was dressed in the same clothes he had worn during his final meeting with Holmes, and if he turned around Sebastian was sure he would see the gaping bullet wound in the back of his head. But Jim stayed facing front, black eyes locked with Sebastian’s. 

“Honestly, Sebastian, a few people die and you fall apart. How very ordinary.” Jim’s voice sounded bored, a long drawl that was oh-so-familiar to Sebastian, but there was something in the shadowy corners of his eyes that told Seb all he needed to know.

“Jim, I—”

Jim shook his head and Sebastian could have sworn that he rolled his eyes. Always such a sassy bastard.

“I didn’t believe in dramatic emotional declarations when I was alive, do you really think I’d tolerate them now just because I’m dead? C’mon, Basher.” A smirk flickered across his thin lips and Sebastian felt like he was home.

“You should have told me. We could have found another way, another plan, you didn’t have to… Didn’t have to kill yourself.”

And that time Jim really did roll his eyes. “There were a million and one ways I could have made it through the Game unscathed. But I didn’t want to, and it’s about time you come to terms with that, pussycat. I always told you you were still too human, Tiger. It was always going to be your downfall.” Jim brought a thin hand up and laid it against Seb’s cheek, and the sniper was surprised by the warmth and solidness. He brought his own rough hand up and covered Jim’s with it.

“I miss you.”

“Such a weak thing you are,” Jim said, but he was smiling. “I suppose I miss you too. Hell is quite boring without my right hand man to stir up some trouble.”

Seb laughed and laughed and laughed until tears were pouring down his face. When he scrubbed the salty drops from his eyes, Severin and Richard were gone, but Jim was still there.

“I’m going to stay with you one night more, Sebastian. And then I expect you to pick yourself up off your sorry arse and get back to work tomorrow. You’ve had far too long a vacation, and idleness doesn’t suit you.”

Sebastian sniffed and gulped in air, but he nodded, gripping Jim’s hand tighter.

“Good boy.”

Jim led him into their old bedroom and together they laid down on the bed. Jim curled up beside Sebastian, an arm slung across Seb’s broad chest and his head resting on his shoulder. Sebastian was tired, so tired and drained from life, but with Jim beside him, he knew he’d rest easy that night. He was drifting off in no time, but before he fell completely into sleep, Jim’s voice wrapped around him warm and soft like dark satin.

“We’ll wait for you, Tiger.”

In the morning, there were no traces of Severin or Richard or Jim. They had never been there, they couldn’t have been; did it really matter, though, if they had been there or not? The bed was empty and Sebastian’s head ached with a mean hangover, and that was all Seb had from the previous night.

But when he rolled onto his side and buried his face into the pillow, he could just barely smell Jim, cinnamon and cotton and leather.

And he decided then and there that that was all he needed to get himself through the rest of his days: a faint, familiar scent and the promise of reunion.

_And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me_   
_For all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me_


End file.
